


Secretive

by twerkules_mulligan



Series: Trust to Dust [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Canon-Typical Violence, Diapers, Don't worry, Embarrassment, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Isolation, M/M, Mentioned Infantilism, Minor Violence, Scars, Serious Injuries, Sex Pollen, Stress, Violence, Wetting, Worry, it's mentioned like once, like not even infantilism, mentioned sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twerkules_mulligan/pseuds/twerkules_mulligan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Project Freelancer, things just go wrong sometimes; in Washington's case, a knife hit in the worst spots in his lower abdomen, taking away his ability to hold himself in anyway urination/shitting-wise. He tries to hide it from the Reds and Blues once he reaches them, but after the Meta is killed, only Doc knows. But after Doc disappears, the Reds and Blues step in, hoping to find a way to help their recruited Freelancer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secretive

Secretive

Warning(s): Slightly Referenced Infantilism, Diapering of an Adult, Urinating, Shitting, Very Mild Sexual Content, etc.

Description: In Project Freelancer, things just go wrong sometimes; in Washington's case, a knife hit in the worst spots in his lower abdomen, taking away his ability to hold himself in anyway urination/shitting-wise. He tries to hide it from the Reds and Blues once he reaches them, but after the Meta is killed, only Doc knows. But after Doc disappears, the Reds and Blues step in, hoping to find a way to help their recruited Freelancer.

A/N: This was, at one time, part of 'Bow Chicka Bow Wow', but I felt it was scaring people off (For obvious reasons) so I'm putting it up as it's own storyline. Hope you all enjoy it, and please, give it a chance. I promise you, it's not Infantilism.

...

Secretive.

Agent Washington was always a secretive person. Whether it was changing in the bathroom stalls of the boy's locker room in high school to hide his boney body, or going out of his way to hide an infection on the MOI, he kept everything to himself. It had never really been a weakness as much as it was a hassle, but that wasn't exactly on his mind as he fought an Insurrectionist in hand-to-hand combat. The agent was nervous, swishing and dodging more than fighting. He knew he was bad at hand-to-hand, he was the worst of his squad, according to York, and he really was not enjoying his little 'dance' with a certain Insurrectionist who had a thing for knives.

The grey and yellow soldier flipped backwards, barely dodging a knife slash aimed for his throat. The Freelancer was quick to try and out-maneuver the young woman he was fighting, but she was stronger and faster than she looked. Sweat dripped down his back with each sidestep he made, with every movement really, and the pain was finally catching up to Washington. A nasty gash in his leg reminded him of how much blood he was already losing thanks to the woman he fought against. With a gulp, he jumped back, turning on the com-frequency he had with his fellow Freelancers. Washington switched it to voice-text, barely missing a throwing star. What the fuck was this woman, a ninja!?

"Come in, can anyone read me? This is Agent Washington, I need back-up as soon as possible. I'm pinned down over here!" Washington explained, almost managing to land a punch on the Insurrectionist. "Dammit, can anyone read me? Repeat, I need back-up!"

All Washington got was static, and on cue, the Insurrectionist pinned him to the ground, no doubt grinning at him from behind her helmet. "Say goodnight, kid." She growled, jamming her knife in and out of his lower abdomen.

He screamed on instinct, yelling even louder when the woman was gone, now replaced by a very panicked looking Carolina, who was trying to stop the bleeding. "Goddammit! York, Wash is down, I repeat, Wash is down!" She screamed over the intercom, hands still pushing on the opened gashes. "Hold on, Wash! Just hang in there!"

Washington nodded, making everything around him seem to spin. The Freelancer groaned, attempting to roll over, but Carolina would have none of it. "Don't you close your eyes on me, Wash! 479er, this is Agent Carolina! Do you read me, over?"

Just as the Pelican arrived, Washington blacked out, his last memory being of Agent Maine carrying him bridal style into the back of the ship, locking him into one of the backseats.

...

It really started a lot later. By a lot later, we of course mean when Doc was captured by Washington and the Meta. Right away, Doc knew something was up. It was an unspoken tension in the air, the calm before an impending storm, an unease that echoed through the canyon. This had only increased after Simmons took off, and more or less left Doc for dead, impaled into a stone wall on top of Blue Base. Doc watched from afar, seeing how Wash flinched with every touch the Meta set on him. He also noticed Wash running off with the Meta a lot, but every time they returned about ten to thirteen minutes later, Wash would be just a tad bit more relaxed. At first, Doc had imagined them as an item, but that quickly changed.

It started with a bad smell, and Doc knew it wasn't coming from him. He had been allowed to go a few minutes prior (You don't wanna know how). He looked around, sniffing the air, wrinkling his nose at the scent of what had to be urine. "Woo-we, what's that smell?" He asked, coughing loudly in his helmet.

Washington openly tensed, staring at his feet to avoid looking at Doc. "Uh... I dunno. I don't smell anything."

"Are you nuts? It smells like Junior!" Doc explained. He would've thrown his hands up as he spoke for extra enthusiasm, but he was, you know, stuck in a fucking wall. He swore, one day, he'd get Simmons back for this. Maybe with a carefully planned prank? "Are you sure you can't smell anything?"

Wash only got more nervous, shifting awkwardly. "I... well, ya know, I don't have a great sense of smell." He lied, hoping the excuse would work. "But, I'm sure it's really nothing, just... ignore it."

"Alright, I'll try, but it'll be hard." Doc stated, sighing internally.

That broke a nerve.

"I'm sorry, alright!?" Wash suddenly shouted, facing Doc, dropping his gun and kicking it away from himself in fear of shooting Doc. "I'm so sorry, I-I... I'm sorry..."

"Wash, are you-" Doc was cut off as the Meta overheard, jumping onto the roof of the base, facing Washington carefully, placing both of his hands on either of Wash's shoulders, keeping him steady. "Meta, is he gonna be okay?"

The Meta didn't even look at Doc, too busy guiding Wash off of the roof, and back into the base. "Hey, aren't you gonna tell me what's up?" Doc yelled, but was ignored. He sighed, almost going limp on the wall. "Well that was weird... hey, that smell's finally gone! ...Wait a minute..."

...

Days passed, and Washington recovered as well as he could. The surgery to completely fix the damage done could easily kill him, so, on the Director's orders, he was forced to deal with, as he put it, 'The consequences of your actions'. Well, those consequences were far worse than Wash had expected. At first, when he had ended up wetting himself during training, he laughed it off and figured he'd drank too much water that day. However, the fourth or fifth time finally forced Wash to realize that it was, indeed, not just another 'accident'. He kept to himself for awhile, avoiding the other Freelancers as much as possible, hoping no one would notice his sudden disappearances.

But that was about to change.

A knock to Washington's bedroom door made him jolt, but he didn't answer, too busy sitting on the toilet to go see who it was. He had come to sitting on the toilet for hours after training, keeping himself busy with his phone or computer. It was a hard life, but he figured it was better than pissing himself (Or shitting himself) around the others. They'd call him a freak, a nutcase. They'd never talk to him or want to see him ever again. The door eventually opened, and Wash almost yelled for the person to leave, but multiple pairs of footsteps made him halt, swallowing in fear. It wasn't just one of his friends, there were at least three to four of them in his room, looking for him.

"Wash, you in here? We're here for an intervention!" York yelled, looking around the messy bedroom, unable to find the other Freelancer. "Come on, it's just me, 'Lina, North, Maine, 'n Connie!"

"It's CT." Connie corrected, crossing her arms as she looked around, hazel eyes full of concern. "Where the heck is Wash? I thought Wyoming said he'd be in here after training."

Carolina nodded, looking to the closed bathroom door with suspicion. "Wash? You in there? Come on out, we're not here to judge you or make fun of you. Whatever is going on has been keeping you from hanging out with your friends."

"You sure he's home?" North inquired.

Maine rumbled an almost audible 'yes' as a reply, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Uh... just get outta here, I'll be out in a bit!" Washington finally called out, hoping the others would just leave before anyone found out about his secret. "Just... just a bit constipated."

"You're lying." Connie claimed, joining Maine in front of the door. "I hate to break it to ya, but you've been anything but constipated, Wash. Remember last Friday, or even Thursday? Just come on out, we're here to help you!"

"I don't need help." Washington replied, cringing at the weakness that resided in his voice. "Look, I'll be out soon, just-"

Maine had, apparently, decided that this was getting nowhere, and opened and shut the door after entering at light speed. The Goliath of a man stopped dead in his tracks, giving Wash a quick once-over. Wash had deep bags under his eyes, his skin was a sickly pale, and he looked almost like a dying old man while sitting on the toilet. Washington stared at Maine, eyes impossibly wide as he scanned his face for even the smallest bit of what he feared; hatred, anger, distaste, disappointment... Wash had expected the worse. He yelped suddenly though as Maine strode forward, crouching in front of the much shorter and younger Freelancer. He was ready to just listen to him and talk about it.

There was a soft growl, more or less saying 'get explaining', or something of that nature.

"Well... it's not my fault, I don't think so at least... I keep losing control of myself, and not breakdowns or anything, just... I keep wetting myself, even on missions it's happened, and I can't stop it. I even shitted myself last night! I'm not sure what's going on or what to do but... just please, if you're gonna punch me or tell me to go kill myself, do it now." Washington braced himself, ready for a hit or a slap or a punch of any sort. He seemed almost like a kid, scared to be hurt by an upset parent or guardian.

There wasn't a reply for a long time, but soon, Maine nodded, letting out a soft, comforting purr to tell Wash that it was fine. Washington smiled, almost sobbing as he collapsed into Maine's arms, letting the older Freelancer hold him close. Even though Washington was naked from the waist down, Maine wrapped his arms around the much smaller Freelancer, mindful of how tight he hugged him.

Meanwhile North, Carolina, Connie, and York had heard everything. They all exchanged looks, unknowing of how to react or what to even do for their friend.

"What do we do?" Connie asked, leaning on the wall as she stared at her bare feet. "I mean, I was ready to hear he was really sick or that he missed his grandmother, not... not this."

"I don't think anyone was, Connie." York agreed, taking a seat on Washington's bed, running his fingers through his messy hair. "I mean... should we tell the Director or anything like that?"

North shook his head, frowning at the bathroom with pity. "No. If more people find out, it'll only make Wash feel worse about it. The last thing he needs is attention drawn to him, we all know how he feels about people staring at him."

"Well, we need to do something." Carolina argued, glaring at the floor as she took a seat next to York, arms crossed and shoulders stiff. "We're his friends, and we know he'd help us if we were in his situation."

York suddenly stopped, looking up as he snapped his fingers. "I've got it!" He announced, standing up as he snagged his laptop out of his messenger bag, turning it on to look something up.

Carolina leaned over, furrowing her brow at what was on the screen. "Adult diapers?"

Connie would've spat out her drink had she been drinking anything. "Are you serious, York?"

"What else can we do?" North asked, tapping his foot in thought as he stood at the other end of the bed, looking over York's shoulder, gazing at the computer.

Connie sighed, standing beside North in order to see the computer screen. "Well, we all know he won't go for it, even if we try to explain everything to him." She noted, frowning at York's laptop. "Besides, is this even necessary? What if it's just stress wetting?"

"Stress wetting doesn't make people shit themselves, last time I checked." Carolina explained, sighing sadly. "But I agree, Wash isn't gonna cooperate if we just ask him to, he'll say he's fine like he always does."

York was quiet, halting his internet search to sigh deeply, almost as if he didn't want to speak, but needed to. "As much as I hate to admit it, we need to include the Director on this one."

"How will that help?" North questioned, crossing his arms as he gave York a befuddled raise of his eyebrows.

"The Director can make Wash listen, since it's obvious he won't listen to us about it." York explained, finally finishing up on the computer and shutting it down. "Done. Stuff'll be here by tomorrow morning."

Carolina stared at York, dumbfounded. "... How can you order shit online when we're in space?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

York rolled his only good eye, grinning at Carolina. "Oh come on, 'Lina. We're docking on a planet in four hours, it's not as hard as you'd think."

North nodded, looking to the bathroom with worry filled eyes. "God... I just hope Wash listens."

"When has he?" Connie asked, sighing as she re-crossed her arms. "This won't end well."

"You know, nothing ever does." York pointed out, to which everyone nodded in agreement.

...

A month and a half later, Agent Washington was seated beside Doc in one of two Warthogs leading the Reds and Blues home to Blood Gulch. The car ride was horribly tense, no one daring to say a damned thing. Grif was driving, but he was actually going pretty slow, if only to keep anyone from freaking out. Simmons rode shotgun, where he twiddled his thumbs and tried not to look back at the man who shot Donut in cold blood. Sarge tried to start up a conversation a few times, but was met by several shushes and mild glares. Doc sat loyally beside Wash, occasionally whispering things into his ear. Everyone was without their helmets, making it almost feel... surreal, if only a bit.

The biggest thing that threw the Reds and Blues off was Wash, who looked far younger than they had expected. He had short, blond hair, along with stormy grey/blue eyes that challenged Sarge's own ocean blue pair. But no one spoke a word, except maybe the Blues. The Blue's car was driving at a slow pace behind the Red's vehicle, with Tucker driving while Caboose slept in the backseat. The only reason Wash and Doc were riding with the Reds was to avoid waking up the youngest Blue Team member, who had been unusually quiet after Church, er, Epsilon left into the memory unit. Suddenly, Washington grimaced, looking to Doc with worried eyes, looking close to tears.

Doc nodded, turning to Grif. "Hey, Grif, can we stop for a second?"

"Seriously, dude? If you haven't noticed, we're trying to avoid getting caught by Command, and are kinda trying to get back to Blood Gulch in one fucking piece." Grif replied, but made a gagging sound as a terrible stench filled the air. "Shit, man! What the fuck, did someone seriously shit themselves in the car!?" He stood up after parking the car, looking at the Blue's vehicle with suspicion. "Dude, did Caboose go again?" He asked, having to yell to be heard over the thunder storm a few miles away.

"Dude, he went, like, two hours ago!" Tucker yelled, hoping Caboose wouldn't wake up due to all the yelling. "What's wrong? Did someone shit themselves?"

"We don't know yet!" Simmons screamed as a reply. No one but Sarge and Doc noticed Washington flinch, attempting to curl in on himself after hearing how upset the Reds and Blues were. "Check him to be sure, we'll see if an animal left us a 'gift' somewhere in the car!"

Tucker gave them a thumbs up, easily waking Caboose and leading him away from the road, into the forest. "We're gonna go while you guys check the car." Doc explained, taking Wash's hand and leading him away from the Warthog.

Sarge, however, saw past the lie in an instant. He didn't say a word though, waiting for Doc and Wash to disappear before he stood, motioning for Grif and Simmons to follow him into the woods, careful not to alarm Washington or Doc. Once hidden, they watched as Doc had Wash lay down in a tiny clearing. Wash was tense, lying down on a towel while removing his armor, the stench getting worse. "Dude, did Wash cr-" Grif was cut off as Simmons slapped a hand over his mouth, shushing him.

"Shut the fuck up!" Simmons whispered, glaring at the Hawaiian. "Just wait."

After Grif went quiet again, they continued watching. Doc gently coaxed Washington into taking off his under-armor, showing a now yellow and brown stained adult diaper around his ass and privates, making the Reds hold in a gasp. Doc sighed, seeing Wash grimace at the sight. "Told you to wear the heavy-duty ones for the fight." Doc reminded Wash, sanitizing his hands as he grabbed baby wipes from his medical kit, along with another adult diaper. "Don't worry, I can still clean you up."

"I can do it myself." Wash pointed out, reaching for the wipes, but he was stopped as Doc forced him to lie back down.

"You never get yourself clean enough. Remember how you got sick last time you changed yourself?" Doc asked, opening the dirty diaper reeling back from the stench it emitted. "Dang, Wash! Had to eat those rations when Meta warned you they were bad, didn't you?"

"I haven't eaten in days!" Washington yelled back, glaring at Doc, shuffling uncomfortably as the other man changed him. "Not my fault we were running out of food..."

Doc sighed, shaking his head. "Just hold still, this'll only take a minute..."

Simmons looked away, focusing his gaze on Grif. "Why the fuck is Wash in a diaper? I mean... are Freelancers not toilet trained or some freaky-ass shit? You'd think they'd know how..."

Grif shrugged, turning to face Simmons instead of Doc and Washington. "I dunno, but I think Tex knew how. I'm pretty sure we'd of heard a lot more complaining from Church if she hadn't."

"Both of ya shut up." Sarge ordered, glaring at the two men. "It ain't that he don't know how! Ya see them scars on his belly?" He pointed at the scars on Wash's lower abdomen, to which Simmons and Grif nodded. "He might not be able to control it, that's all."

"Wait, so you're saying he has to wear diapers, even if he doesn't want to?" Grif inquired.

Sarge nodded, looking at Wash with pity.

"Dude... that's fucked up." Grif announced, frowning at the Freelancer. "Like, I know Washington was kinda shitty during all that AI bullshit, but I don't think anyone fucking deserves that."

"Yeah..." Simmons agreed, frowning down at the grass covered ground with shame. "Let's not tell him about this."

They all nodded, and for awhile, it was quiet, until Grif finally spoke up again. "... I wonder what they're like."

Simmons's eyes widened as he swerved around, staring at Grif. "You can't be fucking serious?"

"Why not? I'm just wondering, man." Grif explained, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "Is it so bad to wonder things? I mean, we ask why we're here every fucking day. Wondering what a diaper feels like can't be so bad, right?"

"I thought I told ya both ta shut yer traps." Sarge whispered, a dangerous edge in his voice. "Now quit yer yammerin' 'n let's git!"

"Wait, we're leaving?" Simmons asked, just as Doc pinned it on, Wash letting out a sad sigh. "We're not gonna say anything?"

Sarge shook his head. "Let it be, Simmons. As much as I'd like to say somethin' ta at least Doc, it's ain't our place ta do so."

"Guess you're right..." Simmons agreed, following Sarge and Grif out of the forest.

"I still wonder though..."

"Shut the fuck up, Grif!"

...

After the whole 'intervention' thing, everything quieted down that day for Washington, which he thought was odd, considering that he knew Carolina, Connie, North, and York had overheard his explanation to Maine. He had expected them to say something to him or tease him, but when Maine finally convinced him to leave the bathroom, they had all left. For the rest of the day, Wash made a point of avoiding everyone but Maine, who he kept next to for everything, including training, which once again ended in an emergency trip to the bathroom. This was getting ridiculous, and Wash had had enough, but he was still worried about going to see any of the on-board doctors about it.

Maine had growled about it being a good idea to seek help, but Wash was still attempting to avoid too much attention being drawn to the matter, seeing as it was kind of a more 'personal' predicament. Still, Washington went to bed that night with a worried mind, a towel under his ass, and a frown on his face. He just wanted this nightmare to end before it got any worse. But little did he know, it would get at least a little bit better very soon. The next morning, Wash hopped outta bed, dressed in civvies (It was his day off), and wore grey sweatpants, a yellow T-shirt reading 'Seattle' in grey lettering, red converse, and a beanie hat. He yawned as he heard a knock at his bedroom door, and was shocked to see the Counselor standing there.

"Oh, hello sir!" Washington greeted, saluting the older man.

The Counselor nodded, smiling that almost too warm smile at Wash. "Good morning, Agent Washington. I trust you slept well?"

Wash was tempted to tell the Counselor about his nightmares, about all the bed-wetting that had been going on, after all, the Counselor was said to have two kids of his own, surely he of all people would understand? But he didn't say that, he only shrugged. "I see... well, the Director would like to see you now."

"What for?" Wash couldn't help but ask, giving the Counselor a worried look.

"It is not my place to say, Agent. I'll be seeing you now." With that, the Counselor walked away, acting as if he was just having a completely normal day at home, rather than living on a government owned spaceship.

Wash scratched his head, frowning at the Counselor's back as he disappeared down a hallway, leaving him with little peace. Now, what would the Director need at this time of day, especially on his day off?

...

After that, the Reds made a point to not bother Washington, especially when Doc left to go bury Donut in Valhalla. They had all seen how worried Wash was to see the medical officer go, and didn't say a word to him about it. Meanwhile at Blue Base, after Doc took off, Tucker began to notice a sizable difference in Washington's behavior. Before he had been much more stoic, making a point to seem like a deadly badass, but that had changed after Doc took off without him, leaving Wash by himself. The Freelancer had then kept to himself even more than usual, which Tucker sort of understood. After all, Doc had been Wash's only friend among the Reds and Blues- and it had to be hard on Wash- to be left with a bunch of strangers.

But things got worse; Doc didn't come back in a week like he promised. The Reds and Blues chose to believe, at first, that he'd just gotten lost or was running a bit late. Two weeks had passed and they thought it odd that Doc was unheard from. Three weeks and they silently agreed that he had to be dead. Wash kept a higher distance, staying in Church's old bedroom in Blue Base for days on end, only coming out if Caboose knocked hard enough for him to. Even then, Wash would be tense, constantly shifting in his new armor, which he refused to remove. Tucker figured he was just shy or some shit, but it was nothing to really worry about. So, Tucker let a sleeping bear lie, not daring to press for information from Washington, however, that only stayed for about a month.

Finally, Tucker had had enough.

"Yo, Wash."

Washington glanced up from his seat beside Caboose on the couch, the younger Blue having convinced Wash to watch Spongebob or some shit with him, and since Caboose had fallen asleep, Tucker saw his chance to get answers out of Wash. "You've been pretty quiet lately." Tucker pointed out, leaning over the back of the couch to gaze at Wash. "Kinda distant even."

"Just getting used to Blood Gulch." Wash promised, trying to ignore Tucker, but that wasn't about to happen. God, why did Caboose have to fall asleep? At least when Caboose was awake, no one bothered him. "It's a lot different then the MOI."

"MOI?" Tucker inquired, giving Wash an odd look.

"Mother of Invention." Washington filled in, shrugging as he laid back on the couch.

Tucker nodded. "Tex used to talk about that ship, she used to say it was her home."

"She never treated it like home." Wash muttered under his breath, glaring now at the TV, which Tucker suddenly turned off. "What is it you need from me, Private Tucker?"

"Some answers. Why're you so fucking distant from us? Like, I kinda understood it when Doc died, er, disappeared. But, dude, even Tex didn't get this fucking bad around us, and she spent hours in her room when her and Church fought!"

Wash growled under his breath. "Tex... she never did know when to stop challenging Carolina, to just stop trying to pick a fight with everyone... she's why Project Freelancer went to shit."

Tucker sighed dramatically, going limp on the couch. "Dude! You are so fucking dramatic, don't you ever smile?"

Wash tried to make a smile, but it only looked creepy. He stopped, glaring at Tucker. "I'm just saying what happened from my point of view, Tucker. Sorry if my version is a little too depressing for you."

"Hey, why don't you just cut it out, okay? Quit avoiding the subject. Why're you avoiding me and the Reds? The Reds I can understand, 'cus they're assholes... actually, Grif ain't that bad, and Simmons is annoying, but he's pretty cool sometimes... fuck it, just please answer my damn question!" Tucker demanded, glaring at the taller man angrily.

"Tucker? Washingtub?"

Fuck.

"Yeah, Caboose?" Washington asked, almost smiling as relief washed over him. He'd be safe for awhile. "What's wrong, buddy?"

Caboose yawned, sitting up as he rubbed at his light blue eyes. "What're you and Tucker talking about, Washington?"

Wash shrugged, almost wanting to grin at Tucker, but figured that Tucker didn't deserve it. His questions had been understandable, but Wash just wasn't willing to answer them quite yet. "Oh, nothing. Tucker just wants me to spend more time with you guys is all."

"Yeah," Tucker added, almost glaring at the smug bastard that was Agent Washington. "I just wanted Wash here to help me answer a few questions that I can't figure out, but since you and him are gonna hang out, I'll just ask later. I'm sure Wash will answer them for me sooner or later."

"I hope so too." Wash stated more than said, smiling a bit at Caboose, who beamed right back. "So, what're we gonna do now, Caboose?"

Caboose seemed to think it over. "How about we make a cake for the Reds!"

Wash wanted to sigh; kitchens and him had a very bad history according to his grandmother, and he really didn't want Caboose to set himself and Washington on fire again, but he saw no alternative. "Alright, Caboose. But this time, let me set the stove."

Tucker walked away as Wash and Caboose headed into the kitchen, silently deciding that he'd ask the Reds what was up. They'd rode with Wash and Doc on the way here, right? They might know what was up...

...

"You can't be serious!?"

Washington wasn't typically an angry man. He was usually only angry when it was justified or he was scared, which would cause his voice to reach an incredibly high octave, but this was one of those 'horribly outraged' moments that kept Wash from being able to calm down. He glared at the Director, something he never dared to do, especially out of armor (He was convinced that the Director had cameras in their helmets to tell when they made faces at him or glared at him). The blond Freelancer backed up though as the Director took a step towards him, glare strong and powerful. He gulped, unable to hide his nervousness from the powerful man that was the Director, who he wanted to believe looked smug about this whole ordeal.

"I believe I am, Agent Washington. It has come to my attention that your injuries from your last mission were far worse than our doctors predicted, and from the suggestion of your fellow teammates-"

"-York." Wash growled under his breath, glaring heatedly at the brunet, who ducked behind Carolina, waving shyly at Washington.

"-You will be wearing adult diapers until we can find a better solution." The Director finished, making Wash want to faint as he saw a box beside the man, making his heart drop into his stomach.

Wash backed up a step again, breathing heavily and slowly. This wasn't happening, it had to be nothing but a terribly cruel joke. Surely the Director was kidding around with him, right? Yes, he had to be. It was just York and Wyoming teasing probably, although, Washington would be disappointed in York if he had told the Brit about Wash's incidents without permission. Really, after this, Wash was going to kill the damned locksmith. "Sir, can't we just talk this over? I'm sure there are other soluti-" Wash was cut off.

"Agent Washington!" The Director shouted, making everyone straighten at attention. "I have discussed it with our surgeons and it has been confirmed that the surgery to reattach the correct cords in your lower abdomen could cost you too much blood and would ultimately kill you. Now then, would you rather risk your life for an almost certain death operation, or simply deal with a far less deadly solution?"

Washington stared at the Director, closing his fists and reopening them over and over, looking to the others. Wyoming, Carolina, York, Connie, Maine, North, South, and Florida refused to look at him. Some out of pity, some out of anger, and some out of acceptance. It made Washington want to puke, or die, the later was a tad more preferable at this point. He shuffled a bit where he stood, refusing to look the Director in the eyes. Was he really about to agree to this bullshit, surely there was another option, but knowing the Director, he wanted this to serve as a punishment for failing during his last mission. Wash just wanted to go back in time and kill that knife throwing ass-hat, but he couldn't do that, now could he?

"Fine." Washington agreed, crossing his arms stubbornly. "But I'm changing myself, sir."

"I would hope so." The Director replied, nodding as he started to leave the room. "You're all dismissed. And Agents, if I hear anything involving verbally or physically abusing Agent Washington about his current condition, there will be severe consequences." With that, he was gone.

"Well, at least he's looking out for me." Washington thought grimly, glaring at the box on the floor with an evil glare. "I can't believe any of this." He admitted sadly, watching as a few Freelancers were already shuffling out, while a few stuck around.

"It won't be all that bad, lad." Wyoming assured Wash, patting him on the shoulder as he passed by, leaving him in peace.

Florida stuck around, smiling at Wash in a very friendly manner, to which Wash was almost sickened by. He didn't want reassurance or a pat on the back, he wanted a damned cure. "You know, if you ever need any help changing, you can ask-"

Wash pointedly glared at Florida, picked up the box, and stormed off. "Thanks but no thanks, Florida." He muttered, leaving to spend the rest of his day off in the peace and comfort of his bedroom.

Everything could be fine now though. Everything would just go back to normal again, Wash knew it would soon enough. But even so, his mind was worried about so many things, namely about how he was going to adjust with the newest change. But it would be fine, he assured himself, it would all be fine.

It just had to be.

...

"Wash is acting weird?"

Tucker wanted to slap himself due to Simmons's response, instead he simply sighed, shaking his head at the much taller man, the second tallest in the canyon with Caboose as the tallest. "Yeah, of course he's acting weird! Haven't you noticed how he avoids you guys?"

"I'd hope he'd be avoiding us." Grif admitted, yawning loudly. "I mean, we kinda shoot at him when we see him... so you'd sorta fucking expect it."

"Still, even I talk to you guys sometimes, and so does Caboose. Wash just plain refuses to leave the base half the time, much less see you guys, and honestly, I'm sick of it!" Tucker yelled, crossing his arms as he glared at the ground. "I mean, he's a pretty cool dude, but... he keeps locking himself in his room..."

Simmons and Grif exchanged a look, making Tucker squint his eyes at them. "Oh man, you fuckers know what's going on, don't you?" He accused, turning to Grif. "Come on, man. We're sorta friends, you can tell me what's up."

"It's not our place to say..." Simmons insisted, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly. "I mean... we didn't even mean to find out, we only followed Doc and Wash and then boom, we-" Grif slapped a hand over Simmons's mouth, shutting him up.

Now Tucker had really had it. "Seriously, guys! He's my fucking teammate, as weird as it is still, I gotta know what's up with him!" He explained, then calmed himself down. He rarely got so pissed off, but dealing with Washington along with Caboose was getting to him more and more with each day. "Just... cut me some slack, guys."

With another exchanged look, Grif sighed dramatically, deciding he'd take the fall for it. "Alright, so, don't fucking tell Wash we know or tell Sarge we told, but... okay, this is gonna be fucking weird to explain properly, but Wash is wearing diapers."

Tucker went silent, staring at the Reds with wide eyes.

"Way to ease it down for him, Grif." Simmons muttered, glaring at said orange soldier.

Grif rolled his eyes. "I did better than you would've done."

"No; you make it sound like Wash actually likes wearing them, asshole! Sarge said it was because of the scars on his lower abdomen or whatever, you didn't even explain that part!" Simmons yelled, waving his arms in the air. "Next time, let me explain!"

"I thought we agreed if we ever talked about it, I'd explain?" Grif asked, frowning at Simmons in the poorly lit cave. The Reds had only agreed to meet with Tucker in the caves because it would be way outta rang from Sarge and the other Blues at Blue Base.

"No, but we agreed that you're a fatass." Simmons promised, smirking at the slightly shorter man.

Tucker still stood there, dumbfounded. "Wait... so, can he not control it or some shit?" But he got no response, as Grif and Simmons were too busy arguing. Tucker sighed, walking away. "Part of me wants you two to just shut up, the other wants you to shut up and kiss already. Fuck it, I'll find out myself. Bye, bitches!"

Thankfully, Grif caught that last bit. "Bye, Bluetard!"

"You're gonna die alone!"

"You're gonna die a virgin!"

"Your sister takes it up the ass!"

"I hope Wash sees your internet history!"

No one can deny that Grif and Tucker were good friends.

...

"It's not all that bad." York promised, smiling at Washington hopefully. He had been sitting with the younger Freelancer alone for the last three hours, and those hours had been spent watching TV in the lounge and just talking really. "I mean, you could've gone blind."

"Not all that bad? Are you kidding me, this sucks! I'm never going to be taken seriously again!" Wash yelled, dramatically flailing to land on his back on the couch, glaring at the ceiling evilly. He could barely see Florida and Wyoming hanging out together in the rafters, probably drinking tea together and exchanging war stories. "I'll be surprised if South ever looks at me with a straight face after all of this."

"Oh come on, North said she's taken it pretty well so far, not one insult! Besides, the Director will kill anyone who fucks with you about it. He honestly has your back on this one." York explained, smiling down at the overly dramatic Freelancer.

Wash rolled his eyes. "Yeah right, this is all a punishment from the Director for failing on that mission, I just fucking know it."

York shrugged, relaxing into the couch. "Hey, I'm just saying, it could've been way worse. Would you rather be dead right now, Wash?"

"I've considered it." Washington admitted, sighing to himself. "It's just... nothing will ever be the same for me anymore. Yeah, I'll maybe get used to it one day, but do you really think I'll find anyone who will love me after PFL? And that's just suggesting I'd survive that long. But say I do; who would love a grown man in diapers?"

York shrugged again, wrapping an arm around the younger man, ignoring the way his friend's pants crinkled on the couch. "I'm here for ya, man. And hey, when this is all over, I'll set you up with someone. Hell, maybe you can get with CT!"

Wash looked away, eyes downcast. "Yeah... or Maine." He suggested.

York bolted up, surprised by Wash's response. "Whoa, really?"

"Yeah, got a problem with that?" Wash inquired, almost wanting to crack a joke at York about it, but he wasn't in the mood.

"No, just... didn't know you swung that way, man." York admitted, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "But hey, I ain't judging, Maine seems... nice? I dunno, I haven't known him for as long as you have, Wash."

Wash smiled at Maine, watching the SPARTAN turn to him, waving. Wash waved back, smiling all the while, forgetting his problems. "Well... he's a great guy, once you really get to know him better."

"Um... Wash?" York asked, scooting away.

"What?" Wash asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh..." York pointed at Wash's pants, still scooting away.

"What... aw fuck!"

...

Washington knew something was wrong about five days later, when he felt like something was off. He always seemed to wet himself in the night, but recently, he had been waking up dry. It just wasn't right in a way. He wanted to be happy about it, but he knew that something was up. Everyday he'd wake up to find a different diaper on, as strange as it was, and his mind always came up with twenty or so different, terrible scenarios. Still, he had finally decided to find out how this was happening. That day, Wash slipped out of Blue Base without a word. Tucker didn't even stop him, just smiled and nodded at Wash, which he found odd, considering how suspicious Tucker had been of him when he first came to Blood Gulch.

He ignored it though, opting to just hurry on off to the caves underneath Blood Gulch, where he knew a large amount of high tech computers were. How did he know this? Well, unlike most people, he actually listened to Simmons when he went on about things, especially about Blood Gulch's... odd history. The Freelancer was quick to scale through the winding tunnels of the caves, unable to hide his child-like excitement at the amazing sights inside. Why the Reds and Blues didn't use the caves more often, he'd never know. After only a few more minutes, Washington reached the computers that monitored the two bases, quickly finding the feed from the last five days of his bedroom in Blue Base. He'd find out what was going on in no time.

The feed soon played, and Wash managed to find the volume, turning it on to watch the video feed from Monday. It was around two in the morning, and he could see himself rolling around uncomfortably, either from nightmares or from needing to clean up after himself. Suddenly, light flooded into the room from his door opening, producing a short figure, lazily carrying a bag over their shoulder. Washington looked closer, barely able to make out long, coiled hair hanging down in a ponytail, as well as very dark skin. The shadow wore a teal T-shirt, as well as black boxers. It had to be Tucker, as horrible as that thought was for Washington, he couldn't deny that it was him. There were no other African American's in the canyon as far as he knew.

"Alright, man. Let's hope you're not too different from Junior." Tucker mumbled in the video to himself, kneeling in front of the sleeping version of Wash. "Grif better not have been lying, or he's a dead man."

Grif? What did Grif of all people have to do with anything? Especially involving Wash's bedroom?

Before Washington could question it any further though, Tucker was already cleaning him up in the video, much to his utter embarrassment. No one had ever changed him, well, on occasion, the Freelancers would be forced to if he had been KO'd in battle, but no one ever mentioned it much or teased him for it. Hell, not even South jacked with him about that. He shook his head, refocusing as the video ended with Tucker finishing and leaving, the video feed ending there. Wash sighed, staring at the floor as he shook his head. So, if Tucker had mentioned that Grif knew too, then that would have to include Simmons, which would also bring in Sarge, who would... yeah, all of Red Team had to know by then.

But as long as no one mentioned it, it would be fine, right? Of course it would be... who was he kidding? Washington was a dead man.

...

It didn't really register in Washington's mind how this particular thing started, all he remembered was a very frustrated Agent Maine, a slightly lovey dovy pair of Agents New York and Carolina, and the images of South assuring Connie that 'it' would be fine and she'd be gentle and take it slow. Thing is, no one told the Freelancers about one of the Insurrectionists having sex pollen in their possession, nor did they warn them that the nice-smelling pink shit on their armor was the pollen and that they shouldn't touch any part of their skin with the junk. In short, all of the Freelancers (Everyone had been on that mission) were now highly intoxicated by sex pollen and were thoroughly enjoying each other's company in the privacy of their bedrooms.

Washington, for his part, was more or less carried to Maine's bedroom after everyone had left, mentally agreeing at the same time that the other was plenty perfect for a one-night-stand or more. Maine was far rougher than most men, and tossed Wash unceremoniously onto his large bed, seeing as he needed the extra room as a SPARTAN who thrashed in his sleep. Wash almost purred thanks to the pollen as Maine removed his armor at record speed, settling over him in only the thick suit of underarmor. The man helped Wash out of his armor, being careful around anything that had injuries underneath from the mission. Once Washington was just as under-dressed as Maine, they grinded against each other while sharing a short kiss, moaning as they both struggled to keep up.

Wash was about to say they should just get all of their clothes off, but Maine beat his ass to it, practically ripping off their under-suits. However, Washington went white as a sheet as he remembered the diaper between his legs, attempting to cover himself or even leave, as to not disappoint Maine, but damn, the SPARTAN was persistent about what he wanted. Without a word, Maine stripped him, and didn't bat an eye at the thankfully dry diaper Wash wore, simply tossing it aside and grabbing a tiny bottle of lube from a side-drawer, to which Wash chuckled, earning an odd growl from Maine.

"And here I thought I was the only one." Wash mumbled, referring to the bottle. "You use the flavored shit too?"

Maine grumbled out an answer, which basically explained that the flavored kind was all anyone could sneak on board of the MOI without getting caught, and that he had bought it off Wyoming weeks before. "Oh, Wyoming uses it?" Maine raised an eyebrow at Wash as a result. "Oh, right, Florida. Almost forgot about those two being a thing... damn, they're pr-" Maine glared at Washington. "Oh, right, yeah, shutting up now, got it."

...

"I know."

Tucker barely even looked up from the TV as Washington towered over him from behind the couch, hands on his hips as he glared at the shorter Blue. Tucker rolled his eyes, not even looking at the Freelancer, until he swerved around to tell him to just fuck off, only to see an odd sight. Wash was out of armor, clad in only a pair of sweatpants, an overly big T-shirt reading 'Blue Team' (Certainly Caboose's), and yellow socks on his feet. The Freelancer had short, scruffy blond hair, grey/blue eyes, and a light fuzz for a beard that was attempting to grow in. The younger Blue looked Washington up and down, taking in what he couldn't in the darkness of the older man's bedroom. Eventually, he snorted, turning back to the TV.

"You need to shave, dude." Tucker pointed out, flicking the channel after becoming bored with the show he'd been watching. "Also, you're short outta armor."

"You're shorter, Lavernius." By the way Wash spat out his first name, Tucker knew he wasn't playing games.

Sighing, Tucker simply turned off the TV, twisting around on the couch to glare childishly at Wash. "So, I guess the cats outta the bag, huh? Figured you'd find out sooner or later..."

"Tell me why." Wash ordered, glaring at Tucker, the icy blue in his eyes bearing into Tucker without mercy. "I want to know why you even thought doing that was the least bit acceptable or even the right-"

"Quit your bitching." Tucker interrupted, ignoring the way Wash's teeth bared at him in response. If Tucker could stand Church's angry glares and fits, he sure as Hell could handle an irritated Agent Washington. "I found out, okay? You sure as fuck weren't gonna tell me, so I asked the Reds if they knew what was up."

"And?" Wash pressed on, taking a seat on the couch beside Tucker. "What did they say?"

Tucker shrugged. "Well, Sarge told me to pretty much fuck off and almost shot me, but Grif and Simmons agreed to tell me after awhile. Look, I didn't mean to start shit, I just wanted to help I guess. I mean, we can't have you dying too, Caboose needs a new Church."

Wash nodded, sighing deeply. "Now it's your turn." Tucker broke in, making Wash's head snap up, eyes wide as he watched Tucker. "You heard me, smartass. Tell me what's up with the diapers."

The man groaned, shaking his head. "It's... complicated, okay? Awhile back, back before Epsilon fucked my life over even more, we were on a mission... some woman came out of nowhere and fought with me, cornering me and stabbing me in the lower abdomen."

"Is that bad?" Tucker asked. "I mean, like, fatal?"

"It was supposed to be." Wash replied, shaking his head. "But those doctors on the MOI saved my ass, and I was let out of Recovery after a few weeks. At first, nothing changed, just a few new scars and people asking about it, but nothing major. Then, well, you can probably figure it out."

Tucker scrunched up his face, but his eyes widened at the realization. "Oh..." He sounded it out, shutting his mouth tight after it came out. "Wow."

"No kidding." Wash muttered, running his hands through his hair. "At first, I didn't tell a soul, and I thought I was a freak or something. When I was a little kid, I wet the bed a lot, and I got teased relentlessly by kids at school for it. I guess that fear came back... anyways, long story short, a few other Freelancers, thankfully nice ones, found out about it and somehow got the Director involved."

Tucker made a soft hissing sound, sounding both amazed and astonished by the explanation. "Fuck man, that sucks shit."

"It wasn't so bad." Washington mused, leaning into the couch more as he relaxed into his story. "In the end, he made sure no one gave me shit about, but in return I had to wear-" He gestured to his lap, to which Tucker nodded. "-This."

"That still fucking sucks, Wash." Tucker insisted, sounding almost frustrated by it. "Wait, so did the Director tell everyone about it, just like that?"

"Basically." Wash grimaced at the remembrance of the meeting, of having to stand up there in front of everyone, shaking and nearly crying from embarrassment and intense amounts of self-consciousness. "But thankfully it was pretty much forgotten about when Tex rolled in."

Tucker's eyebrow went up in curiosity. "What did she do?" He asked.

"That's a whole different story." Washington announced, which really meant 'That shit is hardcore and needs time to be told properly'. "One for another day."

"You sound like an old man." Tucker promised matter-of-factly. "Cancel that, you sound like Sarge after he watches his old war movies and all those weird fucking cop shows. Or Old Yeller; he gets kinda weird for a few days if he watches that."

Wash chuckled, grabbing a spare shotgun that Sarge had left at the base once, holding it exactly the way Sarge did. "Men!" He shouted, his voice mimicking Sarge. "Those Dirty Blues are up to no good yet again, which means I'm gonna order you all around with a ridiculous amount of dumbass orders that are sure to help us win the war! For our ancestors!"

Tucker lost it, falling to the floor as he fell into a fit of giggling and full blown laughter, tears brimming in his eyes even. "Holy shit, Wash! You need to do more fucking impressions!" The last word came out as a shrill little screech, to which Wash chuckled again.

Wash threw the shotgun aside, smiling a bit at Tucker as he stood, wiping his eyes a hefty amount as he regained his composure. "Jesus motherfucking Christ, Agent Washington. Where did you learn to do that?"

"Years of practice." Wash assured Tucker, hands on his hips as he watched Tucker stand back up.

"Any examples?" Tucker questioned.

"Well, back in the Project, this one time North and South got me good with a water-balloon prank, so I had a bit of revenge to get. So, when no one was looking, I stole the microphone from the Director's office and imitated his voice... long story short, I slept in the Pelican that night with a black-eye and a broken nose." Wash explained, wincing at the memory. "Be glad you never had to spar with Carolina! She can throw one Hell of a punch when she's irritated, and do not get me started on when she's mad."

Tucker nodded, grinning all the while. "What ever happened to her?"

Washington stopped, feeling uncomfortable for a number of reasons all at once. "She died, well, she got killed to be more specific... she was the first to die by Maine's hand..."

"I'm sorry," Tucker mumbled, voice going soft, looking honest to God sorry for all he was worth. "I didn't-"

"It's not your fault," Wash cut in, smiling as the memories faded. "You were curious, and it was my choice to respond. Besides, even though I have a lot of bad memories, talking about it tends to bring up the good ones, too."

Tucker shrugged, walking past Washington on his way to the kitchen. "So, what're we gonna do now, Wash?"

"What do you mean?" Wash asked, following Tucker into the kitchen, leaning on the other side of the counter as Tucker made himself a sandwich. "I think we're pretty stable where we are, Blood Gulch is a great-"

"Seriously, I'm talking about you, dumbass." Tucker deadpanned, glaring halfheartedly at Wash. "You gonna tell Caboose and just be open with this shit, or are you gonna go through another 'Emo Wash' stage on me?"

Washington sighed, shaking his head. "I dunno, maybe?" He looked almost deflated. "It's a hard decision."

"All of Red Team knows, and I know too. The only one who maybe doesn't know is Caboose, and we all know he wears those things because of O'Malley frying half his brain." Tucker explained, still trying to focus offhandedly at making his lunch. "Look, I'm just saying you've got nothing to lose, man."

"That's what I'm worried about." Wash admitted, sitting on the counter instead of leaning on it. "What if... fuck it, it's dumb."

"What?" Tucker pressed on, sounding almost agitated. "Spit it out, man."

Wash sighed, looking away. "What if Caboose expects me to act like a baby?"

That got Tucker even more confused. "Wait, what? Why would you even think that, dude?"

"Well, Caboose acts very child-like, which is well-known in this canyon. And since he wears diapers, it might actually add onto that somewhat. I'm just saying, he might expect me to act the same way, and if I don't, I'm worried it'll damage his idea on diapers or something." Wash explained, sounding tired.

"Dude," Tucker sounded tired, rubbing his face in frustration, further adding onto the effect. "You realize Caboose isn't a baby, right? Yeah, the dude wears diapers and does kid shit a lot, but that doesn't mean he's got the mind of a two-year old. Man, if I was that carefree, I'd act like a kid, too."

"So, you're saying Caboose won't be too freaked out?" Wash inquired, as if begging for Tucker to tell the truth. "I mean, I'll still stay 'In The Closet' about this if it's easier, but-"

As if called upon by God, Caboose strode on into Blue Base, smiling and waving as he saw Tucker, but stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Washington. For a second, their eyes locked, both not saying a damned thing before Tucker spoke up. "Hey, Caboose. How was it at the Red's?"

Upon getting no answer, Tucker looked away, made uncomfortable with dread at what might go down. After a few minutes, Caboose just grinned, running over and petting Wash's scruffy beard kindly. "Your face is fuzzy, Agent Washington." He commented before running off, supposedly to do his own thing.

"Told ya," Tucker stated, as if he'd never been nervous, walking right past Washington with his newly prepared lunch. "Now then, if you'll excuse me, hockey season has kicked off on Earth and I gotta watch the Red Wings kick some ass!" With that, he plopped onto the couch, turning on the TV with a chuckle.

Wash stared, still a bit disgruntled, but soon sighed with a bit of content, just glad nothing catastrophic had come about with his confrontation with Tucker or his interaction with Caboose. At least now, he thought, he could have a better nights sleep.

Well, as better of a nights sleep he could have these days.

...

Fin

To Be Continued?

A/N: Definitely an odd story-arc this'll be, but fuck it, I like where this is going so far, even though I'm certain others won't. Anyways, I'll have more up as they're written, though, I'm sure I'll have very few followers for this story. This fic was originally posted as a drabble in my fanfiction "Bow Chicka Bow Wow" on FFN, but I found it might be more suited for AO3 (For obvious reasons, such as giving more warnings using tags). If you have any questions or requests for this AU, please comment on this fic and we'll chat for awhile about your idea/request. Who knows, this fic might do well? I won't, however, admit what my real name is or what my Tumblr is, as my sisters might find this fic as a result. But otherwise, I'd love to hear your opinion on this piece. Please review, and have a good day!

~CabooseHeart.


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